mine as we ride to his office, and then he motions for me to take a seat in the chair that faces the dancefloor.
Below, at least a thousand people are dancing under the flashing lights. The DJ is jumping up and down onstage as the music shakes the walls, and just like it was on the first night that I came here, there are two exotic dancers twirling on the poles in sync.
“Welcome back to Fahrenheit 900, Mr. Anderson,” His assistant steps into the room. “I’m so sorry that the police were never able to find her…” Her voice trails off. “I’m also sorry that I wasn’t ready for your return tonight. I wasn’t expecting you to come back here for a while longer.”
“Noted.” He ignores all of her comments. “Get one of the bouncers in here for me, please.”
“Yes, sir.” She rushes away out of the office.
Seconds later, the guy who damn near put me out of this club months ago appears in the doorway.
“Yes, Boss?” he asks.
“Tell everyone out there that they need to get the hell out of my club. Staff included. Now.”
“Sir, we just started this party less than an hour ago.” He sounds like a whining teenager. “Besides, the cover charge for tonight is three hundred dollars, and we’re already at capacity.”
“Ramon, you know that I’m not a fan of repeating myself.”
Ramon nods and steps back, leaving the room.
Within seconds, the flashing lights stop, and the red and orange flames that lap the dance floor fade into a soft white. The partiers slowly make their way off the floor and head for the exit.
The club is cleared within fifteen minutes, and Ramon returns to place a phone in a drawer.
He briefly makes eye contact with me and tilts his head to the side. Then he gasps, blinking several times.
“Maybe we do need to go home tonight. I’m starting to see shit…” He mutters, stealing one last, confused glance of me before leaving the office.
Michael waits until he knows the club is empty before grabbing my hand and leading me down to the dancefloor. Pulling a small remote from his pocket, he taps a few buttons. and a massive screen drops down from the ceiling.
It comes on seconds later, revealing a bright blue map and a long and extensive list of times and places.
6:45 town car pickup…7:05 call to advisors once driver picks up coffee…7:30 media conference call.
“What is all this?” I ask.
“Your father and your aunt’s schedules for the next month and a half,” he says.
“Can’t I just get that from their secretaries?”
“No. If you want to do this job right, you’ll need to trail them and learn their habits—to become an expert in all the small things that they do when no one’s watching.” He pauses, running his fingers through my hair. “You’ll also need to trail a few of their friends, while they’re busy in their meetings to find out who they listen to, who they pretend to listen to, and who they actually respect. If you’re going to win at this game, you have to make sure you know all the ways that your opponent can lose.”
I look up at the screen again, as their birth certificates and public real estate records appear.
“I know that they’re your family members,” he says, “but you’ll also have to do some intense research on their business and their personal histories. You need to know everything from who they pissed off in high school, how their morning routine starts, to how many business deals they’ve landed and turned away. Everything. The research never lies.”
I swallow, noticing that the screen is now displaying their traffic court histories. “Is this the type of research that you did on me?”
He smiles, but he doesn’t answer the question.
“You know what?” I cross my arms. “Since we’re on this topic—”
“We’re not on this topic.” He cuts me off, smirking. “We’re talking about the very intense and time-consuming job that you’re about to do.”
I roll my eyes. “Do you have any regrets about anything you did when I was your target?”
“Only one.”
“What is it?”
“That I never got to see you perform at Club Swan,” he says. “I truly regret that.”
“Out of all the things…That’s the regret?”
“It’s a very big one.” He smiles. “I heard you were quite the draw when you worked there.”
“Did you stalk some of the clients and ask about me?”
“I didn’t have to.” He shakes his head. “I called the club owner and asked when it was best to